


street level

by Quillium



Series: Era [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Everyone gets along and everything's happy, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Gen, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, but keeping Tony being happy with his family, ignoring the bad parts of endgame, that's it that's literally all this is this fic is pure self indulgence and fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 17:11:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18627628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillium/pseuds/Quillium
Summary: “What if—what if I’m not as good as you? I don’t think I can be as good as you, Mr. Stark.”“No?” Tony hums a bit. He kicks out. The water ripples, “No. You’re not as good as me. You’re better."ORPeter, on learning to become a hero.





	street level

**Author's Note:**

> Alright-o, my attempt at an AU. Please read the description for the series before continuing to avoid confusion, hopefully this isn't all a terrible mistake.

Iron Man retires on a spring morning. Peter knows because Tony has been planning this meticulously, going over it for over a year before Pepper put her hand on his shoulder and he said _I have to do this_ , quietly, as though to himself.

It isn’t unexpected. Peter was part of the process, he watched Tony make blueprints for a house he plans to build for Pepper and their future kid, he helped scout the area with its forest and lake and vast landscape.

But it is strange. Knowing he’s in charge of New York, now, with Captain America preparing the Falcon to take over and the other Avengers off doing world-saving stuff. Nobody else permanently in home base like Spider-man.

“What if I’m not as good as I need to be?” Peter asks, perched on the edge of Tony’s new dock, feet dangling in the lake in front of their big new house.

Tony laughs, a soft, breathless thing. It’s new, this lightness, the way that his shoulders no longer carry the world and his eyes no longer have any bags under them. Peter likes it a lot. Retirement is good. “I don’t think you need to worry about that, kiddo.”

“I don’t mean to pressure you,” Peter says quickly, “I think it’s good that you’re stepping away. Just—if I fail—then what?”

“Then you’re human,” Tony says quietly. He wraps an arm around Peter’s shoulders, the way Ben used to when they were watching movies, “Then you fail. And you pick yourself back up. Whether that means running toward the problem or walking away—you decide. But you pick yourself back up or get someone to help you. And you keep going in the direction you’ve chosen for yourself.”

“What if—what if I’m not as good as you? I don’t think I can be as good as you, Mr. Stark.”

“No?” Tony hums a bit. He kicks out. The water ripples, “No. You’re not _as good_ as me. You’re better. You’re so good, kid. You just don’t see it. What you do, your skill set, that doesn’t matter. You can always improve that. What’s in here—“ he taps Peter’s chest, “That’s important. And you’ve got a big heart.”

There’s a lump in Peter’s throat, “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

“No problem, kiddo. And anyways—I’ll always be here. It’s semi-retirement, really, not full on. Nothing’s going to change, not really. New York is the same, and you’ll have all the other heroes on speed-dial, yeah? You’ll be alright.”

“Okay,” Peter says, and believes it.

And Tony’s right. Nothing changes, really. New York has always been strange but kind, and it adapts quickly. He still gets free hot dogs from the old guy down the street and the occasional free bit of food and people still ask him to do backflips or walk up walls because they saw him do it on Youtube.

So nothing really changes.

Then the super weapons appear, so he handles them at the moment and then asks May to drive him to Tony’s place.

“You did a good job,” Tony says, ruffling Peter’s hair after he has explained the situation, “I’ll get some agents to handle it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Peter says. So he lets Tony’s people handle it and takes it slow.

Or at least that’s the plan.

Then it turns out that scary bird dude is also Liz’s dad which means Peter is maybe in some danger.

There’s a gun in Toomes’ hand and his voice is soft and everything in Peter’s head is screaming _danger danger danger_ but he can’t _move_ because there’s a _gun_ in Toomes’ hand. He’s freed and he moves shakily into the building, smiles nervously at Liz but _he can’t stay_.

He apologizes and leaves and he doesn’t have his suit because this was supposed to be an ordinary prom date so he makes do. He’s still in his tux when the warehouse drops on him, rubble and ash and pain so sharp that he feels numb.

He fights the Vulture, and the Vulture goes to jail. Peter is mildly traumatized but overall proud.

“Sorry, kid,” Tony says, fingers fiddling with his newest contraption as he paces around, “You shouldn’t have—you shouldn’t have had to handle that.”

“It was fine,” Peter says, “I’m fine, Mr. Stark.”

“You got hurt.”

“I heal fast.”

“You shouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

“It was healed within a day, Mr. Stark.”

“You heal fast. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“I’m _fine_.”

“You got hurt. It was my job to—“

“No, it’s not,” Peter interrupts. He stands and pulls out one of Tony’s pans, fills it halfway up with Pepper’s almond milk and sets it on the stove to boil. “It wasn’t that big of a deal. You handled most of it, I fought one little fight. It wasn’t your fault and it wasn’t mine. It just happens. It’s good that I get experience now, and grow from it. Stop blaming yourself.”

Tony sighs and sets down his contraption. “Yeah—yeah. Alright. I am proud of you. You did good. And I heard—I heard that you saved him, when he was in danger. That’s what I mean that you’re—you’re better than me. You’re a good hero.”

“I’m not better than you, Mr. Stark,” Peter sighs, exasperated, “I’m still—I’m still figuring it out,” Tony makes a noise of disagreement but says nothing so Peter takes the opportunity to change the subject. “How’s Morgan?”

“She’s great! I love her!” Tony smiles a bit manically.

“You haven’t had any sleep.”

“She’s very good at self-care,” Tony slumps, “So, uh, she knows how to be—vocal—about her needs.”

Peter snickers, “Okay.”

The almond milk boils. Peter turns off the heat and pulls out two mugs and the hot chocolate powder.

“Do you want cinnamon in yours?”

“Yes, please,” Tony rests his hands on his chin, “You’re proud of yourself, right?”

“Of course I am,” Peter sets Tony’s cup of hot chocolate in front of him, “Is Ms. Potts as sleep deprived as you are?”

Tony pinches his fingers together, “Well, the other night, baby Morgan decided that she wanted to cry just as Pepper managed to fall asleep. Of course I tried to take care of it but after Morgan fell silent I tried to put her down and she started crying again so I had to keep rocking her and singing—but you know that Peps can’t sleep with any sound at all—so my singing keeps the baby asleep but the wife awake and I love them both but baby is developing and stuff, right? So I think I have to keep singing because I can’t have a sleep deprived child but now I have a sleep deprived wife and—“

Yeah. Retirement suits Tony just fine.

__

Where Iron Man’s retirement was a meticulously planned thing, Captain America’s was an exercise in denial until he realized that he didn’t need to fight.

After the Avengers discovered the Winter Soldier when taking down a Hydra base together, Captain America started spending less and less time fighting and more and more time being with Bucky. Which was good. Except. Captain America had this idea that he had to fight and keep fighting and couldn’t stop until all the bad was fought off.

It took Iron Man retiring for Captain America to realize that it was okay. He didn’t need to keep fighting like this. And so he stopped being in denial and started to train the next generation instead.

The issue for Peter is not that he is being trained by Captain America, it is that he is being trained by a man who was in the _army_ and his shoulders are _dying_.

The worst part? They’re doing this through video call. Well. Holograms because Tony’s tech. So there’s no excuse. Everyone is a hologram and everyone is portable and Peter can’t skip by being too far or on a class trip. There is no escape.

“Keep your form steady,” Steve says.

“I’m dead,” Peter says, “Deceased. Unalived. No longer of this realm. I cannot keep my form steady.”

“You can and you will,” Steve says sharply, because there is no sympathy in him and he is a complete and utter monster.

Peter cannot _believe_ he used to have posters of him up on his walls. Tony, who gives him hot chocolate and free stuff, is clearly superior.

“Wanda, stop using your powers.”

“Who said I was using my powers?”

“Your hands are glowing,” the Falcon deadpans from where he’s planking in front of them. Not even because he has to. Because he _wants to_.

The Avengers are all monsters and Peter cannot believe he was dumb enough to want to be a superhero. It’s like taking the beep test every single day _willingly_ and all you get is the satisfaction of being a good person and making people happy. Which. Well. Makes it all worth it but _urgh_ why can’t his optimism let him complain?

“I have muscles,” Peter whispers, “I can use them.”

“I don’t,” Wanda says sourly, the red glow dimming from her fingers, “But I’m being forced to use them anyways.”

“Your non-existent muscles,” Pietro says.

“Yes,” Wanda glowers, “Hydra didn’t make us do pushups or planks.”

“Hydra experimented on us.”

“We gave our consent.”

“Are you saying that Hydra is better than the Avengers?”

“I’m saying that Hydra didn’t make us do pushups or planks.”

“Because they were _evil_.”

“Because even though they were evil, they had _morals_. Morals that Captain America clearly doesn’t have. This is torture.”

“ _Wanda_ ,” Steve buries his face in his hands, “Please.”

“I can destroy buildings! Raze cities! Destroy minds!”

“And you can’t do a pushup?” Pietro snickers.

Wanda glares at Pietro. Deliberately, slowly, she does one push up, “I hate you,” she says, and does another.

“You are a monster,” Peter says.

“You are doing more push ups than me,” Wanda says, “Faster, too. At a constant rate and everything.”

“It’s a bit scary,” Pietro agrees, “I almost feel like you could beat Mr. Rogers in an arm wrestling match.”

“Please don’t call me that,” Steve says uselessly.

Sam laughs at Steve’s pain because they’re best friends.

“Yeah, but I web sling every day,” Peter does another five push ups, “And I’m enhanced. Plus, I’m dying. I can’t feel my arms. They have become noodles.”

“Says the kid who’s going strong,” Sam snorts, “You think you’re dying now? Wait until you can barely keep yourself upright.”

“I would like it to be known that you are evil,” Peter announces.

“Great,” Steve says, “A hundred more.”

“You know, before the whole Spidey thing, I could barely do ten push ups.”

“And now you can do a hundred more,” Steve nods.

“No, no, I can’t,” Peter shakes his head as vehemently as he can while doing push ups. He thinks that he must look like he’s lost his marbles.

“Yes, yes, you can.”

Peter groans as loudly as he can.

“Peter’s my new favourite,” Wanda announces.

“I am your _brother_ ,” Pietro says.

“Yes, you were always my least favourite,” Wanda agrees.

Peter does another push up.

__

Everything’s going great. Everything’s going perfectly.

Except one teensy tiny little thing that’s really not important but.

Um.

Peter has nightmares sometimes?

It’s not a big deal. Honestly. It’s just that he can’t talk to anyone about it because they’ll get worried and the last thing that Peter wants to do is make someone else worried about him. That’s all. It’s not—it’s not a big deal.

Until he has a panic attack in a bathroom stall and it turns out he has claustrophobia _and_ nightmares and maybe—just maybe the Vulture did leave a few scars.

And he doesn’t want to tell anyone because it’ll just make them worried and unhappy and Tony will feel guilty and May will try to act like nothing’s wrong and everyone will ask questions and—

He decides to tell Michelle, because she’s smart and clever and doesn’t really tell anyone anything personal. She’s cool like that.

Michelle is in the auditorium during lunch, legs stacked on the back of the seat in front of her, combat boots with laces dangling over the bright red of the back of the seat, a copy of _A Thousand Splendid Suns_ in her white knuckled grip. “Loser,” she greets him.

“Hey,” he says. Sits down, “So, um, if someone gets nightmares and claustrophobia from something bad that happened to them, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know what it means health wise,” Michelle says succinctly, “But it means you should tell someone who’s not me.”

“You’re great.”

“I’m emotionally inept,” she squints at him, “You need someone to talk to who’s good at this stuff.”

“Can I just write in a diary?”

“No. Find a human. Talk to them. Until then, you can’t come to AcaDec practices.”

“But—“

“Not my problem. Go.”

Peter sighs and goes.

__

May is understanding. She cards her fingers through his hair and kisses his forehead and sighs but she understands.

“I won’t—I won’t take Spider-man away from you,” she says in a voice that implies that she _wants_ to but knows that she can’t. “I’m proud of you for talking to me. For telling someone. What do you want to do next?”

Peter blinks, “Next?”

“Yeah. Do you want a therapist or—“

“No, not a therapist,” Peter shakes his head, “I don’t think I’m ready for that yet. Just—I just wanted you to know.”

May squeezes his hand and smiles, “I appreciate that. Thank you.”

Peter nods, throat oddly tight.

“If you want to,” May says quietly, “If you want company after a nightmare, I want you to wake me, okay? I don’t care if it’s every night or if you want to try to avoid worrying me—I don’t care. You’re my kid and I want to be there with you, okay?”

Peter licks his lips and doesn’t speak for a minute. He doesn’t want to make any empty promises.

May sighs and squeezes his hand again, “Okay?”

“…Okay,” Peter says quietly, “Just when I want to, though, right? Not every time?”

“Of course,” May agrees easily, “If you want to be by yourself for any reason, that’s alright. Just—if you feel lonely and want someone close by.”

Peter nods slowly, “I can do that.”

“Good,” May says, “Anything else?”

“Can we have fried onions for lunch?” Peter asks hopefully.

May laughs, “We’ll see.”

__

And then Gwen Stacy appears.


End file.
